


i walk the line

by WeeBeastie



Series: rodeo au [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 02:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: you give me cause for love that i can't hidefor you i know i'd even try to turn the tide - because you're mine, i walk the line[bull rider au: the sequel]





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look it's a series now! I know, I was surprised too. But I fell in love with this universe and couldn't help myself, I had to write more.
> 
> All the love and kisses to my entire Tumblr crew, but especially El and Elle, as always. You two are the best. <3
> 
> Title and lyrics in the description borrowed from the Johnny Cash classic, "I Walk the Line."

Flint had been waking up next to Silver for a week when he abruptly realized something.

They were living together.

Initially, the plan was that Silver would stay at Flint’s house in Savannah for a little while, just long enough to figure out where he was going to go and what he was going to do for the summer break between the first and second halves of the bull riding season. It was meant to be an introductory period of sorts, a kickoff to what would almost certainly have to be a long-distance relationship.

But then Silver started things off by sleeping in his bed that very first night after they'd fooled around for only the second time ever, and making him coffee the next morning, and after only a week they'd found such a comfortable routine with each other that it was almost like Silver had always been there.

It was, admittedly, a bit of an unusual start to a relationship. They hadn't even been on a real date yet, unless you counted that time they went for beers in Arlington back when Flint was still trying to deny he was attracted to Silver (Flint did not count that). Nobody even really knew they were-- together, except Miranda because Flint couldn't help but spill the beans to his best friend. Flint was wary of the information getting out; he knew it was only a matter of time before someone saw something or said something, and he didn't want it to decimate Silver’s career - that was his biggest fear in this whole thing. He didn't want his feelings for Silver - hell, his _love_ for him, he could be honest with himself and admit privately that was what he felt - to bring about Silver’s ruin.

Still, as Flint woke up that morning to the sound of Silver’s gentle snoring in his ear and the warm, solid weight of Silver’s arm thrown across his bare chest, he felt nothing but utter contentment.

Flint reached out to the nightstand for his phone, carefully so as not to shift Silver too much and wake him preemptively. He'd already learned that Silver was a total beast if woken too early, while Flint was something of a morning person, which made things...interesting.

He squinted at the screen of his phone, reading what he could see of a text message from Miranda, then unlocked the phone so he could read the rest: ‘Neighbor’s dog had puppies a few weeks back, got 2 left that still need homes. You wanna go look? I told her you've been thinking about getting a pet. Didn't tell her you already got John. ;)’

Flint snorted and shook his head, then took a moment to give it some thought. He had, in fact, been thinking about getting a pet - specifically a puppy. He was on the road a lot during the bull riding season, and sometimes he got lonely. He'd entertained idle daydreams of a stoic cattle dog or a goofy, friendly Labrador riding in the cab of his truck with him. He did have Silver’s opinion to consider now, but maybe the two of them together would make things even better. They could get a puppy as a couple, and both of them could have a hand in raising it. It was a big thing, an unorthodox thing to spring on somebody after only living with him for a week, but Flint was nothing if not unorthodox. Keeping all that in mind, he texted back a one-letter reply, the type he knew drove Miranda crazy: ‘k.’

She replied almost immediately: ‘Dammit you know I hate that. I'll tell her you'll be over later. It's the farm down the lane from mine, Bonny Fields. Not too sure what kind of puppies but I bet they're almost as cute as your new man.’

Flint smiled and set his phone aside again, sliding away from Silver and carefully getting out of bed. He pulled on a pair of underwear so he wouldn't be just strolling around in the nude, then went into the kitchen to start some coffee. He was just sitting down at the table with his mug when Silver emerged from the bedroom in his boxers and an undershirt of Flint’s, rubbing at his eyes with his hands and squinting in the early morning light.

“Mornin’, punk,” Flint greeted him affectionately. “There's coffee. And I got more cream, since I have learned you're a delicate flower who can't drink it black.”

“Did you know that when you say ‘can’t,’ it sounds like ‘cain’t’? You're lucky I find your ridiculous accent charming, old man,” Silver said as he poured himself a cup of coffee and then added the cream, spoon clinking quietly against the mug as he stirred. He shuffled over to the table and sat down opposite Flint, all bedhead and a dazzling if sleepy smile.

“You know, t’ my ears you got a pretty ridiculous accent, yourself,” Flint teased him, grinning despite himself. Silver made him feel young and almost dizzy with infatuation. 

“Fair enough,” Silver said, grinning right back at him. “So, what're we doing today?” he asked, holding his mug in both his disproportionately large hands and taking a sip of coffee.

“You wanna go look at a puppy?” Flint asked offhandedly, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

Silver’s reaction was immediate, and hilarious: he nearly choked on his coffee, set the mug down with a loud thump, and beamed at Flint before wiping his face on his arm, and damn if that wasn't the cutest thing Flint had seen in some time.

“Take that as a yes,” he said, chuckling. “Neighbor of Randi’s has a couple left from a litter. I have been thinking about getting one for a while, and since you seem to be amenable, might as well go and have a look. Right?”

“Right,” Silver confirmed, smiling at Flint some more. He leaned across the table and gave Flint a kiss that he felt all the way down to his toes, and when he pulled back, his blue eyes were so bright and happy, Flint’s only thought was that he'd do anything to keep them that way.

A few hours later, after breakfast and a shower (and maybe a little fooling around in said shower), they got into Flint’s truck and started down the road toward Bonny Fields. Silver rolled his window down and put one arm out, fingers wiggling in the air, and Flint knew he ought to keep his eyes on the road but how could he, when Silver was such a worthwhile distraction?

Eventually, he turned down the gravel driveway of Bonny Fields and followed it up to a little white farmhouse and a classic red barn. It was a well-kept place, with a gorgeous vintage truck parked outside, a hulking turquoise-and-chrome thing with a license plate that said, simply, MAX.

He parked his truck next to that one and hopped out, heading up to the house with Silver at his heels. He rang the bell and waited, looking fondly down at his young companion.

“Quit your wigglin’, punk. You'll give me ideas,” Flint said lowly as Silver practically vibrated with excitement next to him.

“Yessir,” Silver said, then winked, which didn't help Flint with his whole ‘getting ideas’ problem whatsoever.

The door opened, and on the other side of it was a petite no-nonsense redhead in a faded Johnny Cash shirt and worn jeans. She had her hair in a low ponytail and was either wearing no makeup or so little Flint couldn't really see it. She scowled up at Flint and said nothing.

“Hello, ma'am,” Flint ventured. “I’m James Flint, Ms. Barlow’s friend? She said you had some puppies for sale,” he said. “This is my friend John Silver. He's-- here to look, too,” he added as an afterthought, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with a better story ahead of time. They had to be more careful.

“Yeah. Come in, they're this way,” the woman said, turning to lead Flint and Silver into the house.

She led them through the bright, cheerful farmhouse, which seemed entirely at odds with her disposition, to a screened-in back porch. A brunette woman with light brown skin and long spiraling curls like Silver’s sat on a two-person porch swing, two little pudgy critters rolling and jumping around her feet.

She looked up and smiled, though she was looking at the other woman, not so much at Flint and Silver. “Hi there. I'm Max, I see you've already met Anne. And you are…?” she asked, getting up and holding one hand out to Flint. 

He admittedly didn't know a whole lot about women, but if he had to guess, this Max cared a lot more about her appearance than Anne did. He wasn't about to put a value judgment on that, but he couldn't help noticing, anyway. Her hair was styled, her nails were done, and she'd matched her lipstick to her pink checked shirt. “James Flint, ma'am. Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “This is my friend John Silver.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Max said. “Are you the bull rider James Flint I've heard so much about around here? And...you can't be the same John Silver, can you? The talking heads on TV say you two hate each other,” she said, smiling like she already knew everything about them, which was-- a little unnerving. She sounded Southern in a way that was mostly unfamiliar to Flint, more Louisiana Cajun than anything else.

“One in the same. Don't believe everything you see on TV,” Silver said before Flint could reply, turning his dazzling smile on Max. “What breed of puppies are they?” he asked, gesturing to the little brown-and white things who were still gamboling playfully around Max. They had bat ears and bug eyes, and to Flint they looked more like gremlins than dogs.

“French bulldogs,” Max replied, then leaned down to scoop them up, holding one out to Flint and the other to Silver. “They're both boys. The girls went quickly.”

The one Flint was holding wriggled excitedly in his arms and licked him enthusiastically, and okay, bug-eyed and bat-eared or not, it was pretty damn cute. “I think I'll take this one,” Flint said as the puppy chewed on the band of his watch.

“And I'll take this one,” Silver said, grinning at Flint. He opened his mouth to protest, but then realized he couldn't - he and Silver were supposed to just be friends temporarily living in the same house, not lovers (why did that word sound so corny in Flint’s mind?) starting a life together. There was no reason Silver couldn't get his own puppy, unless Flint wanted to out himself and Silver to these two women, which he was not exactly eager to do. Flint was stymied, stuck, and it looked like he was bringing home _two_ puppies, now.

“Wonderful!” Max said, and they all went inside to figure out a price and work out payment. She ended up giving them a good deal because Flint was a friend of Miranda’s, which he thanked her profusely for, of course.

Not twenty minutes later they were back in Flint’s truck, both puppies in Silver’s lap. As soon as Flint started the engine and began down the gravel driveway, Silver burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” Flint asked, fixing his face into a mean scowl, then directing it at Silver.

“We got two puppies because you didn't realize those women are lesbians,” Silver said, giggling to the point that Flint thought he might start hiccuping and-- wait, what?

“Lesbians?” Flint repeated, going over it in his head: two women, who didn't look related, living in the same house. The truck in the driveway - Anne’s, probably, he realized - with the MAX license plate. The way Max had smiled at Anne. “Well, fuck. You conned me! I didn't wanna tell ‘em about us and you _knew_ ,” he said, his mind blown. He glanced over at Silver, who was still chuckling. “You shit,” Flint said, impressed.

“Try to keep up, old man,” Silver said, grinning as one of the puppies put his front paws on his chest and licked his face. “What're we gonna call these two?” he asked.

Flint made a ‘hmm’ noise and turned up the radio as he caught the beginning strains of ‘Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,’ which was one of his favorites. Then it hit him - the song was a sign. “Waylon and Willie,” he told Silver, pleased.

Silver laughed again. “You old cowboy, you,” he said, fondness evident in his voice and on his face. “I like it.”

\---

A few weeks later, Flint persuaded Miranda to come over after supper and babysit Waylon and Willie so he could, at long last, take Silver on a real date. 

Of course, since he was himself and Silver was who he was, too, it wasn't exactly your typical chocolates-and-roses type of date.

“Y'all have fun now,” Miranda said, practically shoving them out the front door. She was downright thrilled to be Auntie Randi to two ‘precious little bundles,’ as she insisted on referring to the pups, and had laughed herself silly when Flint told her all about how Silver had effortlessly conned him into taking both Waylon and Willie home. Clearly, she was supportive of their burgeoning relationship. “Don't come back until you're sweaty, sticky, and exhausted. Otherwise it's not a proper date.”

“Miranda!” Flint exclaimed, mildly scandalized.

“I like her,” Silver said as they walked down the front steps to Flint’s freshly washed, freshly detailed truck, which Flint had already packed with everything they'd need for the date. “Where are we going tonight, old man?” he asked, taking the lapels of Flint’s western shirt in his hands and leaning up to grace Flint with a long, slow kiss, smooth as Tennessee whiskey.

“Wherever I feel like taking us, punk,” Flint replied after he reluctantly pulled back, getting into the truck. Silver walked around and got in the shotgun seat, and Flint thought again of the comment Silver had once made about the importance of gay country music. He could've written a ballad himself that night, all about how good Silver looked sitting pretty in his pristine truck.

He started the truck and drove away, out into the night. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hand on Silver’s thigh, feeling more than a little excited for their first real date. He turned off the main road after a while and followed a pothole-riddled back road that turned into a gravel road and, eventually, a dirt road. He pulled into a wide open field in the middle of nowhere and stopped, climbing out and going around to let the tailgate down and hop up into the bed of the truck. He spread out a blanket he'd put back there and opened up the cooler he'd packed, taking out two cold beers. 

Silver joined him in the truck bed after a moment. “Did you really take me out to the middle of nowhere just to drink and make out in your truck?” he asked.

“Not just that. We're gonna look at the stars, too,” Flint said. He handed Silver a beer, then cracked his own and got comfortable, looking up at the night sky. This far out from civilization, the darkness was real and deep, the stars and moon glowing bright. A shooting star flew across the vast, inky expanse of the sky as they got comfortable, and Flint managed to point it out in time for Silver to see it, too.

Flint turned on the little portable radio he'd brought and found the classic country station, settling in next to Silver as something sweet and slow played in the background.

“This is nice,” Silver said quietly, leaning into Flint and tipping his head back. He was watching the sky, but Flint couldn't help watching him.

“So our first date gets your approval, huh?” Flint asked, putting an arm around Silver’s broad shoulders and nuzzling the top of his head.

“This isn't our first date,” Silver protested, and when Flint looked at him, he was smiling a private little smile that really got Flint’s motor running.

“Ain't it?” Flint asked, leaning in close and nibbling Silver’s ear. To Flint, he was a study in beautiful contradictions - big hands, broad shoulders, but a small waist and narrow hips (and a cute little butt). High cheekbones, sly narrow eyes, and then those _ears_. So small and delicate, like they belonged to a mouse rather than an incorrigible punk of a cowboy.

“No,” Silver said, and made a noise like a purr as Flint nibbled him. “Our first date was in Arlington, when we went out for a drink and I kissed you.”

“That doesn't count,” Flint said. He set his half-empty beer aside and plucked Silver’s from his fingers, pulling Silver into his lap where he belonged. “I freaked the fuck out and ran away; that's not the proper way to end a date.” He rested both hands on Silver's lower back, looking up into his eyes. 

“What is, then?” Silver asked in a voice just barely above a whisper, leaning in close. Flint could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off him, and he'd never wanted somebody so bad.

“I think you know, punk,” he rumbled in reply, then closed the distance between them and kissed Silver fiercely, untucking his shirt from his jeans and grinding his hips up against Silver’s. He rolled them over, carefully because the bed of a truck was not a very soft place to land, even with the blanket underneath them.

“I've never had sex in the bed of a truck before,” Silver said breathlessly as Flint stripped his shirt off him and got his jeans open.

“Ain't from around here, are you?” Flint teased because he couldn't resist, then opened his shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it aside. He rummaged in the pocket of his jeans for the condom and packet of lube he'd stashed there, blushing a little when Silver laughed at him. “What's so funny?”

“You had a condom _and_ lube in your pocket. You sly devil,” Silver teased, squirming out of his jeans. They got caught up on his boots and Flint sat back to watch, amused, as Silver struggled and cursed his way out of the predicament he'd found himself in.

“How is it you're so clumsy and so graceful all at once?” Flint asked as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down just far enough.

“Just talented, I guess,” Silver joked, spreading his legs apart invitingly. Flint took the hint and opened the lube, getting his fingers good and slick before he eased two of them inside Silver.

“You okay?” he asked as he worked him open slowly, watching Silver’s face. He certainly looked more than okay - his eyes were half-closed, he had his head tipped back, and he had started making desperate little noises in the back of his throat.

“Yes, yes, just-- fuck me, c’mon,” Silver said in a demanding tone, arching his back and pushing down on Flint’s fingers. Flint made sure he was thoroughly prepared, then pulled his fingers out. He knelt in between Silver’s spread legs, wincing a little at the pressure on his wrecked old knees, and rolled the condom on. 

He groaned when he finally slid home, bracing his hands on either side of Silver and starting to thrust into him. He was so hot and so tight, he made every coherent thought vanish from Flint’s head. He rutted into him, lifting one hand up to tangle his fingers in Silver’s hair so he could pull his head back, leaning down to bite his neck. He left a trail of vibrant purple marks, moaning against Silver’s skin as the truck creaked beneath them with the force of his thrusts.

“James, yeah, more,” Silver gasped, bucking up against Flint and fucking hell, that was hot. Flint pressed in close, trapping Silver’s hard cock between them and cursing at the feel of it leaking on him. It was insane how hot that made him.

“You are-- ridiculously-- sexy,” he gritted out between thrusts, feeling his body starting to draw tight as he got closer. “ _Fuck_ ,” he growled as he came, shuddering with pleasure. He let go of Silver’s hair so he could grab his cock and jerk him off, wanting Silver to feel the same overwhelming ecstasy he'd just experienced. “C’mon, let me see you,” he whispered.

Silver made a high-pitched, frantic noise and then came in a rush between them, hips bucking against Flint’s. Flint moaned quietly and stretched out on top of him, nuzzling his neck and thinking about how very, very lucky he was. 

After a time, he pulled out of Silver, removing the condom and tying it off so as to properly dispose of it later. He looked down at Silver and couldn't help grinning at his sated, fucked-out expression.

“I do right by you?” he asked, patting Silver’s bare thigh affectionately.

“Oh, yeah,” Silver sighed happily, grabbing a corner of the blanket and wiping himself off. “Turns out I like having sex in the bed of a truck.”

Flint laughed hoarsely, rolling off Silver and lying on his back to pull his jeans back up, taking a moment first to enjoy the feel of the night air on his overheated skin. “Lost my virginity in the back of a truck like this one, y’know,” he said, rummaging around until he found his cast-off shirt and the cigarettes and lighter he knew he had in the shirt’s pocket.

“You're full of shit,” Silver said, making a face at him as he squirmed back into his own clothes.

“Ain’t,” Flint said around the cigarette in his teeth, flicking the lighter a few times before he managed to get the thing lit. He took a long drag and then sighed in pleasure, looking sideways at Silver. “Was sixteen. Me an’ a girl I knew in school, back when I thought maybe I liked girls. It was nice enough, wasn't the girl’s fault I ended up, uh. You know.” He still felt awkward saying the word ‘gay,’ even though it was the only word for what he was. He wasn't ashamed anymore, he'd dealt with that a long time ago. He was just - shy, he supposed. Maybe even a little scared to say it out loud to another person, which made absolutely no sense when that person was John Silver, but so it goes. “Still friends with that girl to this day, so I guess she weren't too disappointed in me.”

Silver watched him, and Flint could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. “It was Randi, wasn't it?” he asked, a shit-eating grin spreading across his impishly beautiful face. “It was totally her! Oh man.”

“You did not hear that from me,” Flint said, looking at him sternly. “Nobody knows but her and me, so if for whatever reason she ever tells you, you gotta act surprised,” he said. He stubbed out his cigarette and made to get up from the truck bed, but something gave him pause. He was still feeling the night air on his skin, even though he'd pulled his jeans up. He looked down at himself and scowled. “Aw, dammit. Not again.”

Silver looked over at him and started laughing. “Again? You mean you've managed to split the thighs of your jeans open before?” he asked, sounding unaccountably amused by Flint’s misfortune.

“More than once,” Flint griped. He'd have to throw those away once they got home, which was a shame because they'd been his favorites. At least he had a good story for how he'd ripped them this time. He shut off the tiny radio and organized things in the truck bed, then hopped down and helped Silver out before closing the tailgate. “We should head home,” he said reluctantly, both hands on Silver's hips. He'd buttoned his shirt crooked, Flint realized, and it was too fucking endearing for Flint's tired old heart to take. He pulled him into a hug and buried his nose in his hair, smiling when Silver breathed a happy sigh and leaned into him.

“Thanks for the date, old man. It was fun. Maybe next weekend I'll take you out,” Silver said, then tipped his head back and gave Flint a smile as bright as the moon over their heads.

When they got home, Miranda teased the shit out of Flint for ripping his jeans - _not again, Jimmy!_ \- and made Silver laugh with her filthy mouth before saying goodbye to them and the dogs, and going home.

Flint changed out of his ripped jeans into cotton pajama pants and nothing else, and retired to bed with Silver, who was wearing only a pair of boxer briefs the same intense blue as his eyes. 

As he drifted off with his arm around Silver, while Waylon and Willie snored at the foot of the bed, Flint thought he was one ridiculously lucky sonofabitch, ripped jeans notwithstanding.


	2. Second

The rest of their summer break passed by far too quickly in a haze of long, hot days and dark, blissful nights. Silver never did leave to find a place of his own to live, which of course suited Flint just fine. Each day he woke up next to Silver, he felt indescribably lucky, and like he'd do anything to keep the aggravating, sexy, ridiculously fun little punk by his side. Before Flint knew it, it was time for him and Silver to pack their things (and the dogs’ things, and the dogs), and get in the truck to drive off to their first destination for the second half of the season: Jacksonville, Florida.

Flint hated Florida with a certain amount of irrational passion, but he had to be grudgingly grateful that their first drive wasn't a long-haul one; obeying the speed limit he'd get them there in two hours, and driving like he usually did, they'd make in an hour thirty, maybe an hour forty-five.

Once they arrived at the nondescript little pet-friendly motel Flint had chosen for them, he hopped down from the truck and stretched his legs. He'd reserved a room for them - one with two beds, lest people get the wrong (that is, right) idea about him and Silver. He was supposed to meet his manager that night at a restaurant nearby; she'd driven from St. Augustine just to see him in person so they could have a real face-to-face conversation instead of her texting and calling while he scrupulously ignored her texts and calls unless answering suited him.

His and Silver's first event was the next afternoon, and he was already thinking about it, getting excited. They hadn't drawn their bulls yet but he had a good feeling about it, like they'd both be sure to draw solid bulls and be graced with excellent rides and high scores.

“You wanna come to dinner with me and Ms. Guthrie?” Flint asked Silver as they got settled in the motel, Silver sitting on one bed and texting somebody - Miranda, most likely - while the dogs snored on the other bed and Flint changed from his t-shirt and jeans to a nicer t-shirt and slightly less worn jeans.

“Your manager? Isn't that a little weird, inviting your young _friend_ \--” Flint could just hear the air quotes in his voice “--to dinner with you and your manager? What purpose would it serve?” he asked.

“You got representation yet, punk? You got somebody to tell you what deals to make and not make, who in this industry is trustworthy and who you oughtn’t trust so far as you could throw ‘em?” Flint asked, strolling over to stand at the foot of the bed Silver was sitting on. “Huh?” he prompted him, reaching out to flick the bottom of his bare foot.

Silver twitched and looked up at him, grinning. “I have you, don't I? You love telling me what to do, and you have a ton of experience making a career out of all this. That's enough for me.”

“I'm flattered, really,” Flint drawled, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he could pull his boots on. “But I ain't no manager. Plus, my involvement with you has gone a little past strictly professional, wouldn't you agree?”

“I guess,” Silver said with a little smirk, putting his feet in Flint's lap. “What's she like, Ms. Guthrie? What's her first name?” he asked, wiggling his toes.

“Eleanor. But you oughta call her Ms. Guthrie at first, unless she tells you otherwise,” he said. “She's a good manager. Smart, strong, good businesswoman. She don't take no shit from me, is what I'm trying to say,” Flint said with a little grin. “She's close to your age. Little older, maybe,” he said, taking Silver's left foot in both hands and massaging it, enjoying the soft moan of pleasure Silver let out.

“You keep that up and I'll do anything you say,” Silver purred.

Eventually he and Silver managed to get their hands off each other long enough to leave the motel and go to the restaurant to meet Eleanor. She was already there when they arrived, settled into a booth with her designer handbag on the seat next to her and her phone in hand, texting rapidly. She looked up when Flint and Silver got close and smiled, getting up from the booth to hug Flint.

“Good to finally see you again, James,” she said, and he smiled and hugged her for a long moment. “Who's your friend?” she asked as they all sat down, Silver and Flint side by side opposite her. “Wait. You're John Silver, aren't you?” she asked, eyeing him keenly. “Do you have representation yet?” she asked, and Silver laughed.

Their dinner together passed mostly uneventfully, with the usual amount of prodding from Eleanor about when exactly Flint was going to retire (as well as her strongly implying that it should be soon). She also successfully convinced Silver that he needed a manager and that it ought to be her, which did not surprise Flint in the least. At one point Silver got up to use the restroom, leaving Flint and Eleanor alone together.

“So, how long?” Eleanor asked once Silver was out of earshot. Flint looked at her, confused, and she elaborated: “How long have you been knocking boots with your cute little friend?”

Flint nearly choked on his beer. “I'm not-- we ain't--”

“Oh come on, James! You're not very subtle, and I'm good at reading people. Obviously I have no problem with it, I'm thrilled for you both. But you need to make a decision about when and how you're going to make it public. I know, I know,” she said, holding up one hand to stop his protests before he could even voice them, “you don't want to make it public. Gay cowboy stereotypes, conservative fans, etcetera. I get it! But sooner or later people _will_ find out, because that's the way this world works. As your manager I'm going to suggest you take it upon yourself to control when and how it gets out, and let me know when you're ready to make some kind of public statement. And that's all I'm going to say about that,” she said, then took a sip of her cocktail while Flint stared at her, agog.

After dinner Flint drove himself and Silver back to the motel, mulling over Eleanor’s words in his mind. She had a point, he supposed - he would rather get to choose when and how their relationship became public, instead of waiting for someone to find out and turn it into some big scandal. There were more pressing things to deal with first, though. The second half of the season was about to start, and they both needed to focus on their careers. 

“She really wants you to retire,” Silver observed as Flint unlocked the door to their motel room and let them in, bending down to greet Waylon and Willie as they yipped and jumped around his ankles.

“Yeah, she does. So does my mama, and so does Randi,” Flint said, getting up with a grunt and toeing off his boots as Silver shut and locked the door. “You're just about the only one who doesn't try to talk me into it with any regularity.”

“That's because I understand it in a way they don't,” Silver said quietly. Flint knew that was the truth.

They undressed and got ready for bed, but Flint was feeling almost too excited to sleep. He stretched out on his back with Silver’s head on his chest, the TV playing an old Simpsons rerun at such low volume it was just background noise. The dogs snored at their feet, worn out from the day’s travels and the excitement of being somewhere new.

“Who do you think you'll draw tomorrow?” Silver asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Flint's bare skin.

“Dunno. So long as it ain't Walrus I'll be happy,” Flint joked, tugging Silver closer and kissing the top of his head. He had everything he could want, and he felt ridiculously lucky.

\---

“You gotta turn him loose,” Flint argued passionately. It was the next day, and he and Silver were in the locker room getting ready to ride. They'd drawn their bulls earlier, and while Flint had drawn a relative unknown by the name of Jolly Roger, Silver had drawn none other than Walrus. “Just hop off him as soon as they open the gate, let him run off without you. It's an integrity move! Plenty of guys do that when they draw a bull that's almost killed ‘em before,” he said.

“I'll get a no-score! I don't want to start the second half of the season that way. I'll be fine, he's just a bull. He's not gonna kill me. Worst case scenario he'll buck me off early and I'll just end up with a bruised ego,” Silver said as he shrugged into his vest. “We both know that if you'd drawn him, you sure as hell wouldn't turn him loose, and he's done worse to you than he has to me,” he said pointedly, looking at Flint.

He was right, but that didn't mean Flint liked his reasoning any better. He exhaled hard and bit his lip, feeling like he wanted to drag Silver away from the arena so he wouldn't have to watch him face off with Walrus again. The last time had almost done Flint in - watching Silver go flying and then narrowly avoid being gored had nearly given him a heart attack. But he had his own bull to ride, so he grabbed his old black hat and left the locker room, feeling a creeping sense of dread.

His ride on Jolly Roger, a big mean black-and-white bull, was nothing outstanding but perfectly serviceable. He received a score of 89 and only limped a little as he hustled away from the ornery beast, feeling every one of those eight seconds in his poor old knees.

He hung around the arena afterward, waiting for Silver’s turn. By some odd turn of fate he ended up standing by Charles again, as he had once in the past while watching Silver.

“Taking a long time,” Flint observed, fidgeting, as he waited anxiously for Silver to get settled and get in place in the chute. He was still hoping he might turn Walrus loose, but he knew there was a very slim chance of that happening. 

“Mm,” Charles agreed, shifting his weight. “Ain't no sense delaying the inevitable. Motherfucker needs to get on with it,” he said in a good-natured growl, which was the most Flint had heard him talk in quite a while.

Finally, the gate opened, and Silver and Walrus rocketed out, moving as one. Predictably, Silver did not turn him loose, but hung on for dear life. Things seemed to move in slow motion as Flint watched: Walrus spun. Walrus bucked. Walrus went completely airborne for several long milliseconds. There was daylight between him and Silver, which was not a good sign. Silver slowly, agonizingly lost his grip, and fell from the bull. He was close to him - too close. Walrus bucked and heaved again, and then there was a sickening crunch and a scream of pain worse than any Flint had ever heard.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he whispered. He was over the fence in an instant and Charles, bless him, was right behind. While the bullfighters distracted Walrus and kept him away, Charles and Flint scooped Silver up between them, carrying him from the arena.

“My leg, no, fuck no,” Silver groaned. His left leg below the knee was hanging at an unnatural angle. It turned Flint’s stomach to see it, and he didn't exactly have a weak constitution.

“He's okay, folks!” the announcer said brightly as they muscled Silver to the locker room between them, and the crowd cheered. Flint hated them, for a moment - Silver was most assuredly not okay, and they were assholes for cheering like they really thought he was.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur for Flint: the ambulance came and took Silver, and Flint followed in his truck. Silver needed emergency surgery and was already being whisked away to the operating room when Flint got there. He sat in the uncomfortable waiting room for what felt like days, texting first Miranda, then his mama, then Eleanor. He thought of the dogs in their crate in the motel room and texted Eleanor again, asking her to please go tend to them since Flint couldn't make himself leave the hospital.

For a long time he just sat with his head in his hands. A woman came and sat next to him, and he was so out of it, he didn't realize it was Miranda until she put her arm around him. When Flint recognized her at last, he clung to her, vulnerable in her arms.

“I love him, Randi,” he said, barely above a whisper, his head on her shoulder. “I love him and I haven't told him and now--”

“He'll be okay,” Miranda soothed him, smoothing his hair back from his face tenderly. “You'll get your chance to tell him.”

Finally, a dark-skinned woman in light green scrubs emerged into the waiting room, looking just as worn out as Flint felt. Her black hair was drawn back from her face in neat, no-nonsense braids, and she had the powerful, regal bearing of a queen, despite how tired she looked. Her ID badge informed him that she was actually a doctor, and her name was Madi Scott.

“Are you John Silver’s family?” she addressed him and Miranda.

“Yes,” Flint said without hesitation. “I’m James Flint, I'm his...partner,” he said, swallowing hard. He liked that word better than ‘boyfriend’ or ‘lover’ but it still made him feel a little strange to say it out loud. Dr. Scott sat down in a hard plastic chair opposite them with her hands clasped, leaning in close and looking into Flint's eyes as she spoke.

“I'm Dr. Scott, John’s surgeon. I'm here to give you an update on his condition.” She paused. “I don't believe in mincing words, Mr. Flint. It's a bad injury,” she said gently. “He’ll recover, but for him the bull riding season is definitively over. His tibia and fibula are both broken, meaning his left leg below the knee needed some serious attention. We’ve placed a metal rod and screws to help stabilize the bones while he heals. He’ll need to be off his leg and in a cast for at least six to eight weeks,” she said. “And he'll need to be careful even after he's healed, for the rest of his life. As a surgeon I would advise him to never ride again, but I would also advise anyone even considering it not to ride a bull, ever, because I've seen far too many injuries that resulted from it.” She sat back, studying Flint. “He'll be ready to leave the hospital in a few days. Do you two live together?” she asked.

“Yes, in Savannah,” he said. “We drove here for the rodeo, we're both bull riders,” he explained, too dazed to realize she'd undoubtedly already figured that out.

“He's going to need a lot of help at home as he gets better. He'll be on crutches just as soon as he can manage, but as with anyone who's had a traumatic injury like his, he shouldn't be left alone too much, just in case,” Dr. Scott said. “He'll also have follow up appointments to go to in Savannah, and he may need physical therapy once he's healed. He's going to be relying on you quite a bit, Mr. Flint.”

Flint could feel Miranda looking at him, and could practically hear the thoughts in her head: did this mean Flint would have to quit the season? Would he retire for good? Or would he keep going, stay on the road and finish out the season, even though it meant leaving Silver at home alone in their house, relying on the kindness of their friends to take care of him?

“I'll be there for him,” Flint said softly. He didn't know what it meant for his career, but he knew he needed to be at home with Silver while he got better. He loved him. There was simply no other option for him but to be by his side.

“Good. He's a lucky man to have such a supportive partner,” Dr. Scott said, and smiled at Flint. Her smile lit up her whole face and he couldn't help but smile back, just a little.

“So, can I see him?” he asked, knowing the answer would probably be no, but he had to ask. He needed to see Silver with his own eyes and reassure himself that his punk was going to be just fine.

“I'm afraid I can't let you just yet. He's still coming around from the surgery, and he's going to be disoriented and in a lot of pain at first. You should go back to your hotel for the night and get some sleep, come back during visiting hours tomorrow,” she said gently.

Flint started to protest, but he felt Miranda gently squeezing his shoulder and nodded reluctantly. “Thank you, Dr. Scott, for everything. We'll be back tomorrow,” he said. 

“I'll see you then, Mr. Flint. Get some rest,” Dr. Scott said, then got up from her chair and left the waiting room, leaving Flint and Miranda alone.

They drove back to the motel separately. They hadn't discussed it, but both had come to the conclusion that Miranda would spend the night and visit Silver in the morning before driving back to Savannah.

“What am I gonna do, Randi?” Flint asked once they were both safely in the motel, tugging his shirt off over his head and sighing wearily. “What's John gonna do? The poor kid, his career might be over before it's even really started.”

Miranda looked up from where she was sitting on the floor, long legs stretched out, two adolescent French bulldogs making nuisances of themselves around her. “You're going to make a life for yourselves together, and you get to decide what that looks like,” she said. “You already know what I think you personally should do, Jimmy.”

“Quit,” Flint said flatly, taking off his boots and flopping back on the bed he and Silver had been sleeping in, grumbling as he squirmed out of his tight jeans. He didn't care about Miranda seeing him in his underwear; it was nothing she hadn't seen before. “You want me to retire and have a garden and drink tea on the porch or some shit.” He paused, considering. “Actually, that don't sound half bad.”

Miranda laughed at him and got up from the floor, disappearing into the bathroom. She came back a few minutes later in just her t-shirt and underwear, her long hair loose around her shoulders. She really was beautiful, Flint thought.

“It's too bad you don't like boys and I don't like girls,” Flint mused conversationally as she got into bed with him and draped one arm over his chest. “We could've had some real pretty babies,” he joked.

“It's okay, I'm sure John will be more than happy to have your babies once he's all healed,” Miranda teased him.

\---

Flint didn't sleep much that night. The next morning he was up bright and early, eager to finally be able to see Silver. He and Miranda drove separately, so she could go back to Savannah straight from the hospital, and Flint had to make a conscious effort not to speed excessively. On the way there he stopped for coffee, and got one for Silver fixed up just the way he liked it. Flint had been hospitalized enough for various injuries that he knew hospital coffee was terrible, and he knew Silver well enough to know he'd complain vociferously about subpar coffee.

He met Miranda in the parking lot and practically ran into the hospital, right up to the front desk where a pale, dark-haired, busty nurse was sitting and looking a little bored.

“Good morning, ma’am. We're here to visit John Silver, he's a patient in this hospital,” Flint said, fidgeting anxiously.

The woman - her ID badge identified her as an RN and bore the name Idelle, but Flint couldn't quite make out her last name - eyed them both. “Are you family?” she asked, doubt obvious in her voice.

“Yes. I'm his, uh, partner and this is my sister,” Flint said, hoping the lie wasn't too obvious. He and Miranda didn't particularly look like siblings.

“Mm,” Nurse Idelle said, not sounding too convinced. She looked at them again, smirked, and hit a few keys on her keyboard. “Room 305. Up two floors from here, turn right from the elevators and it'll be on your left,” she said.

“Thank you kindly,” Flint said, then hustled to the elevators. He and Miranda went up to the third floor and found Silver's room. The door was open, so Flint went in, and his heart just about stopped in his chest. There was Silver, wearing a hospital gown, lying on top of the covers in his bed. He had a big white cast on the lower half of his left leg, and he looked so small and so young, Flint just wanted to take him in his arms and never let go.

Silver looked up when they came in and beamed at Flint. “Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi there,” Flint breathed. He approached Silver hesitantly and sat on the edge of the hospital bed, holding out one cup of coffee to him. “Brought this for you, the way you like it. I know hospital coffee sucks.”

Silver took the cup, and to Flint's great surprise he started sniffling. “Sorry,” he said, wiping at his tears with his free hand. “Painkillers got me a little loopy. Thank you, that's really sweet.”

“How're you feeling, John?” Miranda asked, closing the door and then standing by it with her own coffee.

“My leg feels like shit,” Silver said with a little sigh. “And I'm pretty mad I have to miss the rest of the season. But Dr. Scott said I can go home tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow, already? That's great,” Flint said. He reached out to stroke Silver's hair away from his face, thinking about what good care he'd be able to take of him once they were home. He was going to spoil him rotten. “We can get you checked out of the hospital, then go back to the motel and get our stuff, and the dogs. They'll be so happy to see you. As long as we put your seat all the way back, I think you should be able to ride in the truck no problem.”

“You're gonna drive me home?” Silver asked, sounding surprised. “But what about Tucson? You have to be there for next weekend and the drive will take at least a whole day, more likely two or more,” he said.

“Not going to Tucson,” Flint said, shaking his head. He reached out and took Silver's hand in both of his own, rubbing his thumb over Silver's knuckles gently. “I don't know if I'm retiring for good yet or what. I don't know if I'm done riding. All I know is that I wanna be at home, with you. I don't wanna be out there by myself in some shitty motel, thinkin’ about you and worrying that nobody’s gonna take care of you like I would.” He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment before looking back. “That suit you alright, punk?”

Silver smiled and looked almost shyly at Flint. “Yeah, old man. It suits me.”

They both stayed with Silver a while longer, then Miranda said her goodbyes and told them she'd visit them at home. Flint gave her a long hug and thanked her profusely for being there for him, then reluctantly let her go.

Not long after she left, there was a knock at the door and then Dr. Scott came in, smiling when she saw Flint there with Silver. “Good morning John, Mr. Flint,” she greeted them. 

Flint got up from the edge of the bed so he'd be out of her way. “Do you need me to leave?” he asked.

“Not necessary, I'm just here to check in,” she said, looking at Silver's chart. “How are you feeling, John? Not in too much pain? Hospital food treating you okay?” she joked, smiling down at him.

Silver smiled back. “I'm fine, especially since James brought me real coffee,” he said. “Can I still go home tomorrow, you think?”

“I don't see why not. You're stable, you're obviously feeling okay, and it'll be good for you to be in a familiar environment with someone who knows you and cares so much for you,” Dr. Scott said, looking keenly at Flint, who just nodded.

Eventually visiting hours ended, and Flint reluctantly left (but not before giving Silver a kiss to end all kisses, and a lingering hug). He passed a sleepless night at the motel and was up early again the next morning to drive to the hospital, get Silver checked out, and take him back to the motel for their things and the dogs. Not long after, they were on the road back toward Savannah. Flint drove much more cautiously than usual, frequently glancing over at Silver to make sure he wasn't too uncomfortable.

“I'm not going to fall apart,” Silver said when Flint looked at him yet again. “You don't need to keep checking on me, I'm fine. You know this isn't the first time I've broken a bone, right?” he asked.

“Right, sorry,” Flint said with a little sigh, trying to relax so he wouldn't be white-knuckling the wheel anymore. “I just--” He cleared his throat, focusing on the road ahead of him. “I just love you, ‘s all,” he said quietly.

He could feel Silver staring at him, and then Silver started to laugh, so much so that when Flint gave in and glanced over at him again, he could see tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks.

“You take too many painkillers of something? Didn't realize me sayin’ that would be such a grand source of amusement to you,” Flint muttered, feeling his face twist into a scowl.

“No, no! I'm sorry. It's just so _you_ , to not say it at all and then to say it for the first time right now, like this - in your truck, exhausted, driving me home from the hospital because I fucked up and got hurt,” Silver said, still giggling a little. “It's so perfect for us, for how we are.”

Flint felt his face twitch into a small smile. “Yeah, I guess you got a point there,” he said. He drove them back to the house - their house, really - and parked in the driveway, feeling immense relief at the sight of home. He got out of the truck and went around to help Silver down, but instead of giving him his crutches, he just took him in his arms and carried him up the porch stairs to the front door.

“You are ridiculous,” Silver said once Flint carried him inside and got him settled on the living room couch. “You didn't need to do that, I've got crutches and one good leg still.”

“Hush. I know I didn't need to. Wanted to,” Flint said, then went outside to bring in their things (and Waylon and Willie, who seemed almost overly enthusiastic to be back home).

Flint had thought he might feel a little disappointed or distressed, knowing he was home for the rest of the season, knowing that he'd be missing out and that he had some tough decisions to make. However, as the afternoon turned to evening, as he fussed over Silver and made him dinner and nagged him to take his pain medication on schedule, he found he felt only contentment, and a deep, profound happiness. 

He'd still have to call Eleanor in the morning, let her talk his ear off about Options and Statements and Where To Go From Here. He wasn't exactly looking forward to that. But as he tucked Silver into bed and curled around him, Waylon tucked into the bend of his knees and Willie sacked out on Silver's chest, he couldn't help but think this was about as close to perfection as his life would ever get.


	3. Third

Flint woke the next morning before Silver, as usual. He stretched his arms over his head and shooed the dogs off the bed, since they weren't exactly supposed to be there in the first place. He looked fondly over at his bedmate, thinking about how calm and sweet he looked while sleeping - and then he noticed that Silver was hard, his morning erection tenting the sheets.

“Good to see that ain't broken,” Flint said under his breath, smirking. He eased the sheet off Silver gently, not wanting to wake him, and slid his hand into his underwear. He drew his hard cock out slowly and began stroking him, watching his face, wondering how long it would take for him to open his eyes.

Silver shifted and moaned quietly, his hips rolling with the movement of Flint's hand on him. His eyes slid open slowly and Flint saw recognition dawn on him, and then he grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” Flint drawled as he stroked him, leaning in to kiss and nibble his neck.

“Good morning,” Silver said, already sounding a little breathless. “Ahh, that's-- yeah, good, like that,” he murmured, thrusting a bit harder into Flint’s fist.

“Careful,” Flint said against his skin, not wanting him to hurt his leg from being too enthusiastic. “That's it,” he purred when Silver calmed, biting his ear gently.

Silver whimpered and arched his back, his hips starting to falter and his whole body drawing tight. He was right on the edge, Flint could tell. He looked so beautiful like that.

“Come on,” Flint encouraged him softly, giving his cock a squeeze. He let go for just a moment to lick his palm, then went back to it, stroking him fast and hard. Silver cried out and came in a rush on Flint’s hand and his own stomach, his eyelashes fluttering and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Thanks,” Silver said with a dazed little grin, looking up at Flint. “Can I…?” he asked, gesturing to where Flint was visibly hard in his pajama pants.

“By all means,” Flint said, shifting to lie on his side, pressed up close so Silver could get at him more easily. Silver reached out and Flint looked down, watching as Silver drew him out. He groaned quietly, nuzzling into Silver's neck and panting against his skin as Silver started stroking him. He remembered the first time they touched each other like this, when they were desperate and frantic. He felt pleasure rolling up his spine as he moved his hips lazily, thrusting into Silver's fist. Desperate and frantic was fun in its own right, but this easy, unhurried fooling around - it made him feel good all the way down to his toes.

“You're so hot,” Silver purred, and Flint could feel himself blushing. “I mean it, you are. And you're so good to me, always thinking about me, what I need and what I want,” Silver said, stroking him faster. Flint could feel himself starting to tense up, Silver's brand of dirty talk working very well on him. He pushed into his fist, burying his face in Silver's soft, wild hair. “I love how you make me feel. I love how you look at me and how you touch me. I love _you_ , James,” he said, and that was all she wrote. Flint came hard between them, throwing his head back and groaning delightedly.

“You love me,” he said once he'd recovered enough to speak, grinning like a fool at Silver. He kissed him, then grabbed a t-shirt off the floor to haphazardly clean them both up.

“And you love me,” Silver said, smiling beatifically up at him. “Now, I think last night you said something about making me pancakes? Or flapjacks, that's probably what you called them.”

“I said no such thing. I am not a caricature of a Southerner, punk. I am a real person,” Flint said, pretending to be grumpy with Silver because he knew it'd make him laugh.

“Ah am nawt a care-catcher,” Silver drawled in his best imitation of Flint's accent, which Flint had to grudgingly admit was pretty good, and they both laughed.

Flint made breakfast - pancakes, dammit, because even he wouldn't use a word like ‘flapjacks’ - and took a shower. He tried to delay the inevitable, but eventually he had to call Eleanor to talk about what he was going to do from here. He went out on the front porch, Waylon at his feet, and dialed Eleanor’s number.

“Hi there, James Flint,” she answered after only one ring. “How is your handsome beau doing? Your dogs are adorable, by the way, but they're nuisances.”

Flint laughed. “Yeah, I know. He's doing fine - they gave him some good drugs to take home, so he's not in too much pain. Already pretty nimble on those crutches, too,” he said. “Listen, Ms. Guthrie…” He explained to her why he was calling, and what decisions he'd made. He expected her to want him to write out some boring long-winded statement that she could release to the press, but because she was a brilliant manager (and a young person), she came up with a much simpler, more elegant solution.

“Have John film you on your phone, or his. Doesn't matter. In the video just say the important stuff - tell them about your career, your relationship, that you love your fans and you're so honored to have them, whatever. Then post it on social media and watch it take off,” she said. “If people can see you and hear you, if they can get a glimpse of how you look when you talk about John - I think they'll receive it better.”

“Make me look more human to the ones who think men like me are monsters,” Flint agreed quietly. “Smart, ma'am. Very smart. I'll text you once the video’s done and posted. I'll probably just have John do it, I can't be bothered t’ figure out that Instagram thing.”

“Oh my god, James. You're 44, not 400! You could figure it out if you wanted to,” she teased, and they both laughed.

Later that evening, when the sun started to go down and the light turned golden outside, Flint sat on the bench on his front porch with Silver. He'd informed Silver of his plan (Eleanor’s plan, more accurately), and had put on his best Johnny Cash t-shirt, his favorite jeans, and his boots that had ‘go sit on a cactus’ stamped on the sole of the left one. They'd been a gift from Miranda on his last birthday.

“You ready?” he asked, stubbing out the cigarette he'd been nervously smoking while Silver fiddled with his phone.

“Ready,” Silver confirmed. He turned slightly to face Flint, holding his phone out in front of him. “Try to relax. When you worry, you get resting bitch face. There, that's better. In 3...2...1.” He tapped on his phone and nodded subtly to Flint.

“Hello,” he said into the phone’s camera. “Uh. It's me, James Flint. Filming me right now is John Silver. Turn the thing around, say hi, John,” he said, and Silver did, smiling brightly into the camera and waving before turning it back around. “Y'all might be surprised to see him here with me. We'll get to that. First I wanna tell you something that's gonna be a little hard to hear: I'm retiring,” he said, swallowing hard. “I have dedicated my life to this sport and loved every minute of it. I love my fans and I love the opportunities I've been afforded, but it's past time for me to be put out to pasture,” he said, smiling ruefully. He shifted anxiously and raked his hair back from his face. “I know it seems a little sudden, me retiring right as the second half of the season is getting going. But I need to be at home, and I want to be here, too. As everyone out there probably already knows, John Silver had a bad wreck a few days ago and he broke his leg. You probably saw me and Charles Vane carrying him outta that arena like a sack a’ potatoes,” he joked. “Well, John is out for the rest of the season, and he needs somebody who loves him to be at home with him and take good care of him so he can get back to riding once he's healed.” He rubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans and cleared his throat. “That somebody is me. We live together here in Savannah. More important, I love John Silver, he loves me, and I ain't ashamed to make that public. At one point in my life I _was_ ashamed of myself, and then I did a lot of soul-searching. I'm not ashamed anymore. It was tough, but I'm so glad I stuck it out because now I've got John and his love, and I'm humbled by it and by him every day. I'm so lucky.

People out there, they'll tell you to keep this stuff in the dark, hide it away. But you gotta find somebody who can see you in the dark and help light it up for you, help you find yourself and be truly free. John’s helped to do that for me, even if he don't realize it,” Flint said. He paused, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “So. That's all I gotta say, I guess.” He looked over the phone at Silver. “Turn it off, punk, I'm done here,” he said, feeling a surge of affection for Silver as he quietly turned the camera off and gently put the phone down, then lunged at Flint to hug him like to squeeze the air from his lungs. He kissed him with such force their teeth clicked together, and Flint moaned into his mouth, clinging to him. He really was lucky to have this, to have Silver, and he knew it.

Later that night, Silver posted the video everywhere he could think of. Flint made him turn his phone off (and he shut his own off, too) because the response was overwhelming - and surprisingly, it was mostly positive. Flint was glad to disconnect from it all for a while though, to just sit on the couch with Silver and fuss over him while they shared a bowl of ice cream.

“I'm glad you're so goddamn persistent,” he said and then leaned in to kiss Silver, tasting chocolate and marshmallow in his mouth. “Otherwise I don't know where I'd be now. I don't wanna know.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty great,” Silver agreed, grinning at him. “And you're pretty great, too.”

They kissed again, and Flint thought to himself that so far, he was really enjoying his retirement.


End file.
